


The Heroes' Guardians

by Cat_Verona



Category: Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Attempt at Humor, Buckets of it, F/F, F/M, Infinity War, M/M, Pre-Thor (2011), SHIELD Academy, Sexy Times, eventually, to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-03 10:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 15,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4097056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_Verona/pseuds/Cat_Verona
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Welcome, and thank you all for coming today. My name is Marin Morrell, it's a pleasure to see you all today. Today is the first time my company has attempted this kind of recruitment, a very important thing. You all are, without even knowing it,  the very peak in what we are looking for. Ahead of all of your peers. Congratulations."</p><p>Stiles, unlike his best friend Scott, was much more focused on the strawberry blonde two rows ahead of him than the caramel skinned beauty on stage. Today was going to be a waste anyway, he wasn't exactly the cream of the crop like the woman was going on about.</p><p>Right?</p><p>I mean, what even was Students Helping Initiate Excellence in Lower Districts, anyway?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which Stiles Stilinski Finds That Would You Rather is No Longer A Game

"Welcome, and thank you all for coming today. My name is Marin Morrell, it's a pleasure to see you all today. Today is the first time my company has attempted this kind of recruitment, a very important thing. You all are, without even knowing it, the very peak in what we are looking for. Ahead of all of your peers. Congratulations." Stiles, unlike his best friend Scott, was much more focused on the strawberry blonde two rows ahead of him, rather than the caramel skinned beauty on stage. Today was going to be a waste anyway, he wasn't exactly the cream of the crop like the woman was going on about. He was just slightly above average, annoying, energetic, Stiles Stilinski. The woman, Marin, was standing behind the complementary Stanford University podium in her practical shoes and straight, pressed suit. Hair black hair was pulled back in a low bun and the smile on her face didn't reach her sharp, brown eyes. Those eyes drifted among the seated students, briefly settling on Stiles and his inattention.

"In Universities all over this country, and in places all over the world, our organization Students Helping Initiate Excellence in Lower Districts is testing people just like you. Out of approximately 17,500 applicants only 1,200 of you will be chosen to continue on into our program this year. In the next hour you will complete a 30 question test. I urge you to consider every question seriously for this will determine how you place, or even if you do, into your future group." Her calm smile flashed out at the audience before vanishing a second later "When I say you may begin, please flip over your paper and start. Bring your paper up to the front when you finish."

Stiles' eyes finally left Lydia's perfectly styled locks and fixed onto Marin, impatient to begin and finish this asinine test. He couldn't find a point in him being here, not in a liberal arts internship when all he wanted was to work Criminology, hopefully, for the FBI some day. His advisor, Kali Tiberion , told him that taking this test was the only way he was going to graduate on time, missing just one credit hour as he was.

"You may start, good luck, everyone."

Stiles quickly flips his paper over, along with the same rustling symphony all around him, and his pencil freezes over the first question in confusion.

_1\. Would you rather have a child and give it up after one year to never see it again or never be able to have a child?_

_A. Child_

_B. No Child_

Brain rolling with confusion, he slowly circled B. He knew from experience that the kid might not end up anywhere good. A pit of unease settled in his stomach as he scanned the rest of the, frankly stupid and confusing questions. 

_2\. Would you rather marry someone who was rich or attractive?_

_A_ _. Rich_

_B. Attractive_

_5\. Would you rather go 100 years into the future or into the past?_

_A. Future_

_B. Past_

_9\. Would you rather be blind or deaf?_

_A. Blind_

_B. Deaf_

_14\. Would you rather look weak and be strong or look strong and be weak?_

_A. Look weak_

_B. Look strong_

_20\. Would you rather be in constant pain or with a constant itch?_

_A. Pain_

_B. Itch_

_25\. Would you rather save one close friend or five total strangers; the other option will die._

_A. Friend_

_B. Strangers_

How was this a test? A game played in high school and during drunk parties, this determined- oh, mental state. How you think, how you respond to provocation. Your ethics. Taking about 15 minutes, actually considering the questions to his own surprise, Stiles finished the first 29 questions and froze, once again, on the last one. This one was different.

_30\. True/False_

_"The opinion of the Good is more important than the lives of the Bad."_

What the hell was this... SHIELD thing playing at?

************************************************

"So, how are we looking?"

"Fine, sir." Morrell replied, glancing at the Commanding Agent next to her. Suit fitted, but unremarkable, brown hair thinning and unassuming, shades perfectly in place as he gazed out of Stark's Malibu home. "There are reports following in of good and great candidates all over the world. We should have it narrowed down and decided in the next two days. The new group of agents will be flown in, in only five days."

"Good. I'm tired of being the only one on superhero watch, we could use some extra hands."

"Of course. Will you be returning to the Academy with us, sir?"

He turned his head minutely in her direction "Not now. There are things I have to do. Tell Sitwell he gets newbie duty this time, at least until the Director forces me out of my vacation and back onto duty?"

"You don't go on vacations." His eyebrow raises sharply "Sir."

"Call it a rest then. Portland sounds beautiful this time of year."

Dark red lips curve up in a smile "Whatever you say, Coulson."

*************************************************

"Holy shit." Stiles murmured, eyes widening as he stared at his email, Scott's voice yelling at him over the phone.

"DUDE! WE GOT IN! WE FUCKING GOT IN! OUT OF 17,000 PEOPLE! US! THAT'S LIKE...what...a 7% acceptance rate?" Scott's voice drifted off for a second as he worked it out.

Stiles head shook slightly, eyes focused on the words  _"-1 in 1,458 (out of 17,589 tested) accepted to the final round of testing. Congratulations, Mr. Stilinski."_ His next words interrupted Scott's math " Closer to eight I think. What's the final round though? They didn't mention that." Slightly regretting his lack of focus on testing day he was startled at his best friend's next few words.

"They said they were only accepting 1,200, dude. Maybe when we go to this Academy we'll be tested again. Like, on...math and science, and stuff."

"Yeah, and stuff." Stiles muttered, reading through his email he received at 3:09 in the morning.

_Stilinski, Giollanaebhin._

_You are 1 in 1,458 (out  of 17,589 tested) accepted to the final round of testing. Congratulations, Mr. Stilinski. We hope you will accept our invitation to the Academy and join us in three days at The San Francisco International Airport at 0700 hours, in private hanger number 22C. Your pass to access this hanger, should be arriving for you in the mail today. This, along with a picture ID and a two day supply of clothing will be all you need. A confirmation email is expected with 12 hours. Thank you for your time, we hope to welcome you into our agency, with the goal of a better tomorrow._

_Marin Morrell (L6)_

L6? Group number, Stiles automatically thinks, quickly typing up a reply email. Is it a good thing? The group? Was he high up in the choice, or just average? Maybe, it's not a group number? Maybe-

"STILES!" Scott yells, not through the phone but banging on the door. "OPEN UP!" Hitting send, Stiles stands and lets Scott into his dorm room. Brown hair falling into his face, Scott tackles his best friend into a bear hug. "So?"

"So, what?" Stiles grins. Scott practically growls, releasing Stiles and making a bee line for his computer.

"HAH! I knew it! This is gonna be awesome, dude! Allison said her and her roomate Lydia are going to, you know!" Wide smile splitting his face, Scott turns to his laughing best friend. Little black words glaring off the white screen bouncing around in Stiles' mind.

_Marin Morrell (L6),_

_Message received, I'm in. Looking forward to seeing you at the Academy._

_Stilinski, Giollanaebhin_

This would be great.

Right?

 

 

 


	2. In Which Stiles Has Entered the Matrix

This is...boring. So boring. Stiles sighs quietly, the sound swallowed by the roar of the cargo planes engines. Exactly 67 other applicants were sitting around him, twiddling noses, picking fingers. Or, maybe it was the other way around. Stiles didn't even know anymore. It had been three hours of all but silent torture. Everyone had started out talking but the man who met them at the gate, well, his words weren't exactly comforting.

_"Welcome to Hangar 22C. Thank you for coming today. My name is Adrian Harris and you, horde of animals that you are, will be coming with me today. Leave all of your things in the specified blue bins to you left. They will be given to you when you leave the testing room through the right door. Yes, you, with the moles. The blue bins. Thank you. Now, any questions? None, good-" A tall, thin man called over the large group of people. A woman, blonde hair high in a ponytail interrupted him._

_"Where are we going?" His lips, chapped and evil, (yes, evil, Stiles thought to himself) twitched up as he narrowed his eyes at the perfectly, fucking normal question._

_"Classified. Which brings me to my next point. If you don't want to go, don't. Turn around now. Leave, and save us your whining. You'd be weeded out anyway." Okay, cliche psychopath? Check._

_A dissonant rumbling set about the group, people slowly moving toward the door, but only a few. The blonde girl grumbled, loudly, but she stayed put. Stiles tried to count the heads as they left. One, two, four-_

_"Ah, seven. Not a bad number to lose. Normally it's more than that. Anyway. Blue bins filled? Yes, good. Well, let's be off before anyone else leaves. Updating seating...there we go. You will board as I call your names, I will call you out in partners and you will sit across from them. All the way to the back and to the left first, then move onto the row on the right side. Ahem." Glacier eyes glance up once._

_" Abbott and Argent." Stiles watches as Allison and a dark skinned man he doesn't know walk up the hall, noting the way Scott's shoulders fall as the girl he's been obsessed with for four years moves away. Harris continues to call out names in quick succession. He misses a few here and there but people continue walking in twos up the hall and around the corner._

_" Lester and Logan._ _Mahealani and Martin." Stiles' eyes snap up as Lydia smiles at a handsome, tan, dimpled  god-like creature. Shit. Nope, this definitely sets back the ten year plan. How is this even fair? "Mays and McCall." Scott waves at Stiles as he runs out. And Stiles is alone. Again._

_"Mendez and Napier. Noland and Novak. Nguyen and Oliver. Parrish and Petrelli. Quince and Raymond. Redding and Reyes. Sadler and Sheffield. Stilinski and Sutheim." Stiles groans loudly. Bespectacled, a little round and grinning eagerly, that was Sutheim. Great. Bubbly was exactly what he didn't need. Sure, Stiles liked people, but something was weird here. He needed paranoid and surly. Not even Scott, he needed someone who would let him think and not talk._

_Sutheim bounded alongside of Stiles "Hey, I'm Jeremy. I'm from-" Yeah, not listening. Stiles let Jeremy ramble as they walked, a few well placed 'yep's and 'uh-huh's and he was golden. Slowly, but surely, the plane filled. The soft chatter stopped as the doors closed behind a cold faced Harris._

_"This is all we've got this year. You all are." Looking like he smelled something disgusting, Harris tromped down the walk way with a curled lip "Deities help us."  Huh. Inspiring words. No one talked again, not even Jeremy._

Stiles looked down and across from him. Scott was in eyesight, between Lydia and some guy with poofy, red hair. Poor, awkward Scott. Who was smiling? Wait-yeah, that was Allison. Stiles loved Scott, no, really. But, this Romeo thing was exasperating when he wouldn't even say anything to her for Christ's sake. The plane gave a violent shudder, causing gasps, and one particularly shrill scream, from most of them. Harris reappeared at that moment, looking vaguely happier then he had three hours ago. _  
_

"We've finally arrived. The plane will be landing in about ten minutes. Please, do contain your  _enthusiasm._ " The man smiled his thin lipped smile and Stiles decided that he did not like him. Not one little, tiny bit.

**********************************

Okay, so that was new and...weird. That was definitely the word. When the door of the plane opened, and Harris all but sprinted past them, all Stiles could see was thick forest and a group of maybe ten or so people. Which was weird, too, don't get him wrong, but not what he was talking about. Marin Morrell was standing front and center, hair still pulled back like it had been on testing day, but unlike that day, the suit was gone and she was channeling her inner Michelle Pfeiffer, when the blonde had played Cat Woman that was. She was wearing a skin tight, not quite leather, _catsuit._ And, yep,  _that_ was  _definitely_ a  _gun._

Nudging the girl next to him, Malia, he thinks, Stiles mutters "Do you know what this thing is? I thought Students Helping Initiate Excellence in Lower Districts was some hippie, love, volunteering organization. Not a place for guns. In the middle of the woods." Her eyebrows arch up, amusement and confusion warring in her gaze.

"Students Helping...no, I thought it was Serving the Homeless In Enabling Life Decisions? That's what my boss said, anyway." Stiles froze in unbuckling the harness he had been wearing on the plane, not understanding what she was even saying. Not only was it the wrong organization but-

"Your boss?" Nodding she stood and looked at him with worry. Stiles may not have listened to Morrell's opening speech but he was 110% sure Lydia said they were just testing colleges.

"Yeah, his name's Duke, my manager at the Snack Shack. He only came, like, a month ago but he heard about the opportunity and told me to go for it. And I got in!" Her smile was so happy. Stiles smiled back but was trying to figure out what in the hell was going on. 

It seemed Stiles wasn't the only one piecing everything together, and weirdly shaped as all of the puzzle pieces were, it took about ten minutes for everyone to drift out of the plane. Stiles walked over Scott, fully aware that Malia was sticking close to his back. "Dude, what the hell is going on? I can't imagine helping any lower districts in the middle of the woods in...where the hell are we anyway?" Scott asked sharply, craning his neck back as he took in the trees towering above them, his normal obliviousness completely gone with the nervous shifting everyone was doing around them. Stiles just shook his head, barely hearing Malia ask Scott what he meant by 'lower districts', his eyes were fixed on the barely smiling Morrell who was listening to whatever Harris was complaining about. She jerked her head at him after only a minute of his tirade, causing Harris to huff and walk off, pulling out a phone from his pocket as he went. She quickly turned to the waiting group, calm smile fixing itself back onto her face.

"Welcome, everyone. I thank you all for coming today, but I'm going to ask you restrain your questions until we get to the Academy. It's about a 15 minute walk from here, so let's going. But first, does anyone need water? A bathroom break? The man to my left, Julio, has water for you and if you need to use the restroom  _now_ we ask you don't go too far off into the forest to do your business." Stiles shares a look with Scott, thinking about how Lydia would rather cut off her foot than go to the bathroom in the woods. Malia huffs slightly, walking toward Julio.

She meets Stiles' gaze "You guys want some water?" Stiles nods, a thanks slips past his lips as Scott offers to go with her. Stiles looks around him as his best friend walks off with Snack Shack girl, taking in as many of the people as possible. No one was comfortable here, not Lydia with her too blank face or Jeremy with his high pitched chatter. No, no one even knew what was going on, just like him. Icy cold plastic brushes against his arm, making Stiles jump and turn away from examining a grumpy looking guy with too thick eyebrows, and he turns to see Malia extending a water bottle, _and_ following his line of sight with a smirk on her face.

"A little angry looking for me, but he has great arms. 8 out of 10, I'd probably bang." Stiles chokes on the drink of water he had just managed to get, eyes widening slightly. Scott bursts out laughing as water dribbles down his friend's shirt. Morrell turns to look at them, curious and calculating. 

"Alright. It's time to get walking." She calls out, Julio shouldering the pack of waters. Malia smiles at him again, eyes sparkling mischievously. This is going to be great, exactly what Stiles  _really_ needs. Not.

**********************************

This time, the door to the Academy (A big, brown building tucked at the bottom of a sheer cliff, with little cottage things sprinkled around it) opens up to a room that reminds him of his high school gym. If his gym had state of the art weapons, exercise machines and what he was pretty sure was a shooting range, that is. What had he gotten himself into?

"Down to business," Morrell called out, seating herself on the arm of a treadmill "Some of you have already figured it out, but we aren't exactly what we say we are. This isn't a three month volunteer program, or a computer programming exercise camp. When we emailed you, do you remember what we said our goal was? _To make a better world_. That, at least, is true. I'm not going to tell you everything until you agree to be here, I'm not authorized to. And what we are is a big commitment, and we only want the committed. Each one of you has something in common, you are all alone. Family gone or estranged, no romantic ties. For the moment, that is necessary. But, that isn't all. Each one of you has something to offer, some set of skills that most others don't. What you have the chance to sign up for, right now, _will_ be dangerous. It will become your life for the next five years." The silence when she began talking had turned to a disbelieving growl that Morrell had to raise her voice over. "We will not force you to be here, the door to your right, where Julio is waiting to escort you from, is open to you. Your belongings will be returned to you, and you'll wake up at home with none of this to ever bother you again." Immediately two people started walking toward the door.

"But," she called, back rim-rod straight, "If you choose to stay, you will be trained to save the world. To do what all of you _want_ to do, but may _never_ get the chance to... To help people. Your backgrounds tell us everything: your childhood, your dream job, your dream man or woman, everything. It tells us your goals and ethics, morals and codes. We know you, we know you enough to hope that you stay. We want you here, and you want to change the world. Change it with us. Don't just save a child, save a  _nation_. Not just putting one serial killer behind bars, but a  _score_ of them. Stay." Her last word rings out in the room, effectively silencing each and every mutter.  Stiles doesn't trust her, not really. But all he can think of is the weekend so long ago that he and Scott had a Keanu Reeves movie marathon, and it was midnight. It was midnight and Morpheus was talking.

_"You take the **blue pill** , the story ends. You wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the  **red pill** , you stay in wonderland, and I show you how deep the rabbit hole goes." _

No, Stiles didn't trust any of them, but neither did the people slowly moving toward the right door. But his feet wouldn't let him move with them. No, he was going down this rabbit hole. At least Scott was on his left, and staying with him. Oh God. The door shut behind a group of about ten people who were all taking the blue pill. Oh God.

He was staying. Shit. Double shit. Malia shifted next to him, giving him a worried look. Well, here goes nothing, Stiles thinks sarcastically as Morrell stands from her perch.

"Welcome to SHIELD, Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division."

Huh, at least that sounds kind of cool.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and kudos are bae! Leave me some love, you pretty and smart people! What's going to happen? Talk about your theory with me!! Also, within 20 minutes or so of posting the first chapter I had two comments and four kudos!! Amazing thank you so much!!!!!!!


	3. In Which Stiles is Sorted into A Super Secret Agency and Meets His Roommate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda exposition-y here, but it's needed for my mind to work. Things should start moving much quicker next chapter, lots of character meetings and such.

"And...done! You can stop running now. Stay in place and I'll send people around to you to mark your progress!" Agent Finstock yelled, eyeing the wheezing boy in front of him, as fifteen agents quickly disbursed around the room and marked where each trainee stood, or laid, or hunched over themselves protectively. "Greenburg! What the hell did you accomplish today?" Stiles groans in sympathy, but he snorts with amusement at the same time and it comes out sounding like he's coughing up a hair ball. His face flushes, well more than it already is after 30 minutes of running as hard as he could, when Malia starts laughing at him. He has no idea why she's still with him, because while Stiles is no slouch when it comes to his fitness (he has a hard enough time getting Lydia's attention, the 147 pound weakling he had been in high school would have even more trouble) but Malia is some crazy, war goddess or something. They'd been working through the 'final round' for almost three hours now, lunch had clearly been over looked in favor of this Spartan warrior fitness test, and the first thing they'd done was lift weights and run 20 meter sprints. Malia may have placed ninth overall in weight lifting but that was out of another 458, surprisingly, in shape people. And in sprints? Stiles was sure she wasn't even human at this point.

But, long story short, Morrell had pretty much said "We're a super secret government agency, who fight super villains and terrorist groups! You've signed away your soul for the next five years, now it's time to physically tear you apart. Currently, there are exactly 572 hopefuls in this Academy, and in five hours there will only be 400 new agents. Let the SHIELD Games begin, and may the odds be ever in your favor."

He wondered if it was too late to take the blue pill.

"Alright, that's enough. God knows I don't do well with tears, so we'll stop here, we have enough information anyway. Alright, this man walking through the door is Agent Jones. Yes, he looks like that because he  _is_ related to Tommy Lee Jones, but don't ask about aliens because I will _not_ be held responsible for what happens. Anyway...he is going to tell you where to go from here. Good luck, I'll see you...when and if I see you again." Finstock held his hands open wide, smile curved on his face, waiting for any questions. Stiles was pretty sure that about 92% of them didn't even have enough breath to say 'bye' let alone a whole sentence.  Nodding along to whatever statement he just heard in his head, Finstock jump off of the box he had placed himself on and strode out, passing by this new Jones guy.

"They're all yours, Jonesy!" Agent Jones rolles his eyes, yeah, this guy was pretty damn intimidating, though Finstock doesn't even quiver under the glare he receives. 

"I hate that fucking name, Robert." Jones says in annoyance, causing Finstock to turn around and sigh. 

"And I told you that I prefer cupcake, over  _Robert."_ snorting faintly, Finstock spins back around and leaves the gym. Jones watches him go, no more emotions displayed openly on his face other than a deep, resigned look to the world's stupidity. 

"Listen up, and listen good cause I'm only sayin' this once," he yells, his Southern accent easily spilling through the room " Alright. Last names A-F, go through the same door that  _Cupcake_ just left through and follow the blue lines painted on the walls. G-K, again, same door but you're following the  _green._ L-P, go through the doors next to the weights and follow the line of black tiles. Q-U, weights door and follow the red line on the wall. And, finally, V-Z you'll follow me outside. Capiche? Now, you'll be eatin', then sittin' around for about two hours or so. If you've been chosen to leave, they'll call out your name and you're followin' whoever they assigned to be your escort back to the normal world. Same as the yahoos before, you'll wake back up at home like this never happened. Let's go then."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. Everyone slowly shuffles out their assigned door. 

"Who is that guy?" Scott asks, not following his group down the black-tile road like he should.

"No fucking idea." Stiles responds, stretching a little. "Terrifying, though. Like, Lydia whenever our old Calc II professor told her that she should pick a new major, because a woman would  _obviously_ never make it anywhere in the math field." Scott nods along sagely, while Malia tips her head to the side and watches Agent Jones walk away.

"I was thinking real life terminator." Stiles snorts softly, wry grin lighting up his face.

"So, Lydia bringing the smack down on a fifty-something year old idiot in front of 300 people? Yeah, more than that terrifying."

Malia raises her eyebrows, face turning to follow the tiny red head from the training room.

"Duly noted." 

*********************************************

Lights glared off of the large, metal table that twenty agents clustered around. The wall that had the attention of them all was covered in screens. The gyms, lunch rooms, barracks, outside, the flight strip. The most important screens were those that featured the next generation of Academy turnouts. A man with bright, deep brown eyes and dark skin was the first to notice the door opening and the final member of the party walking into the Planning Room. 

"Agent Sitwell. Good to see you again." the man said, eyes glittering curiously as he walks forward to shake his senior agent's hand. "I heard about Calcutta, great job. And, you've recovered nicely." Sitwell smiled at the man, adjusting his glasses.

"Thank you, Alan. Good to see you as well. And, you're training this year! Head of your own team,  _very_ impressive." Deaton smiles widely, a bright flash of happiness and pride shines for a moment before his face calms again.

"You and Agent Coulson taught me well."

Agent Sandoval, tall and blonde, devastatingly beautiful with flat black eyes, spoke up "Before you two profess your love for the other, can we please get own with this? I'd like to familiarize myself with my team before I meet them." Agent Jones rolls his eyes, shaking his head at Deaton from behind her back.

"Of course, Tanya. Please, everyone gather around and I'll give out team assignments. Coulson will be coming in to check on us eventually but until then you all are stuck with me." Sitwell squared his shoulders, eyeing the stack of manilla envelopes on the table. Each one was so thick it was about to break the seal. "This year we have twenty teams, Alpha through Tango, with 24 junior agents in each. Alpha team will be our best and brightest, each will go down by skill level." Leaning forward he picked up the top envelope, TANGO, "I drew team assignments randomly, so no favoritism or even who deserves who. Got it?" 

"Wilkerson, Tango.

 Adkins, Sierra.

 Dillard, Romeo.

 Edwards, Quebec.

 Calderon, Papa.

 Goodwin, Oscar.

 Owens, November.

 Hayden, Mike.

 Combs, Lima.

 Mattias, Kilo.

 O'Connor, Juliet.

 Boyer, India.

 Welch, Hotel.

 Guthrie, Golf.

 Guevera, Foxtrot.

 MacDonald, Echo.

 Deaton, Delta.

 Santana, Charlie.

 Jones, Beta.

 Sandoval, Alpha."

Sitwell tossed the last folder at Tanya, her lips twisted into a wrinkled smirk. Her eyes flash toward Jones who was already pulling out his first bio. "How's it feel to come it second, old man." 

"I don't know, Sandoval. You tell me. Seven years in a row me and my team have kicked that waxed ass at the Opening Course, isn't it? How's it feel to come in second to an old man?" Jones asks with a straight face, Sandoval goes red as laughter fills the room. Sitwell rolls his eyes, mouthing ' _children'_ at Deaton.

"Enough. We have our agents taking out the extras now. You're teams will be called down to command one by one. You can talk with them there."

*****************************************

"And, Uviera. That's it folks. You're gonna be following these three pinheads to my right where you'll be given back you're things and back to wherever the hell you're from." Finstock says with a bit to much enthusiasm. Stiles smiles a bit, glancing over at Malia who's slumped across the table, half asleep. She's cute, right? Not as cute as Lydia, obviously, he thought, but she has an adorable smile. A little brutal, but adorable. And, honestly, what would it matter if, just for once, he got the girl? 

Finstock interrupted his mental debate, comparing Lydia's halo of hair to Malia's beautiful mane, "Okay, folks! I'm gonna call you out by groups and you'll go out the door to my left.. Now, this won't be you're whole group but you're Senior Agent will tell you more about that in a little while. Hah, If you survive that is." His chuckle was that of a Saturday morning cartoon visit and Finstock clearly knew it. "Hmhmm, going on...Let's see...how do I...I hate the tech team in this building," Finstock growls as he grapples with a thin, see through pad with bright red and blue words and charts scrolling across it "Got it! Alpha Team, Room 104--Quinn, Alana. Raymond, John. Rebbin, Molly. Selley, Markus. Stephens, Kaylee. Talbot, Karen. See you later, newbies! Now, Beta Team, 108- Quinton, James. Tuckers, Evan. Ulrich, Martin. Adios, muchachos. Charlie team, room 114-- Hah! Quick, _Charlie._ Ramirez, Juan. Ramsay, Paulette. Sanborn, Lauren. See ya laterr...give 'em a sec. Alright, Delta Team, room 200-- Reyes, Erica. Stilinski, Gio...yeah, let's just go with G. Sutheim, Jeremy. Tate, Malia. Out ya go!" Stiles cringes when people start snickering at  _G._  

 _Thanks_ , mom. I'm pretty sure Gramps would have been fine with it only being my  _middle_ name.

Malia taps Stile's elbow, and the duo follow out the other two. "Hey, Stiles! Good to see you again! Crazy, right? We both made it, and onto the same team, too. That's like what? The two of us, meeting on the plane and being in the same group has to be like a probability of 1 in-" Erica cuts Jeremy off there.

"Nope, you're shutting up now. I'm Erica Reyes. Nice to meet you two. Where are we going?" Stiles nods to her with gratefulness radiating out of him as Jeremy sulks. Malia rolls her eyes, nudging Jeremy good-naturedly before turning to answer Erica.

"200. And, if the rooms here work like they do in the hotels I've been out then we're going up a floor." Erica nods, agreement written on her face. It's clear to Stiles she only asked the question to make Jeremy stop talking while they walked to the stairs, which half worked.

"So, Malia, right?" Jeremy begins with a cheerful smile "Have you ever been to Portland?"

"Nope, not once."

"That's where I came from, originally. But, my family moved to Ohio when I was eight-" As Jeremy talks, riveting stuff,  _really,_ Erica leans close to Stiles' ear.

"Think we're doing roommates by last name, G-man?"

Stiles chokes on his spit and almost misses the first stair.

************************************

Alan Deaton is a little nervous, not a lot but the agent isn't without nerves. He's been waiting for three years to train a set of junior agents for the first time. Finally, Sitwell put in a good word with Hill for him, and Agent Coulson backed him up. Of course, that didn't make it a for sure thing but it definitely got him out of The Pile. The dreaded mountain of paper work that can languish for weeks, from applications to release forms to transfer papers. His team is good, not amazing with people, but not everyone is. Thank God, he has Marin.

"Agent Deaton."

Deaton's eyebrows lift in the normal version of his smile "Afternoon, Agent Morrell. How long do we have?" A snide voice interrupts Morrell's answer.

"Moments. Heavens help us. I don't know why they put me here, I can't stand teaching. Especially a bunch of naive, brain dead children who claim to be adults because they've  _breathed air_ for two decades." Harris, lanky frame snuggly fitting into his own leather suit, slips into the room. His lips were turned down in annoyance and boredom "Robert should be here soon enough, after the minions of course, seeing as he has to direct some of them of."

Deaton shifts through his tablet, watching as sections are marked of one by one, indicating that the to-be agents are being released through the building. He flicks his eyes to Marin. "Room chart?"

"Sitwell got a little anal this year, had them done within an hour and a half,  _by himself."_

"How? There's 480 trainees, and we got rid of 123 within two hours. Did he, just how?" Harris asks incredulously.  Alan meets his friend's eyes with a shrug, not even thinking about it too hard.

"He works in mysterious ways." Marin snorts, lips curving upwards.

"You realize he's not God...or Coulson, right." Before Deaton could respond to Marin's amused chuckle he heard it down the hall, the same thing that made Harris' lip curl over his teeth. 

"So it begins. Bring in the sacrifices." the pale man murmurs, straightening his back and taking his place next to Deaton, Morrell mirroring him on Alan's right.

************************************

 When Stiles' and his group walk into Room 200, he sees they aren't the first ones to arrive. He recognizes two of the people sitting at the table, one is Greenburg. Finstock took a particular hatred of the guy when, during the weightlifting training, his weight magically launched itself into the older agents knee, causing a round of such spectacular cursing it may have beaten out the famous Melissa McCall Situation of '03 when Scott crashed the car into the mailman when he was learning how to drive. Literally, the mailman. Not the van, but the man himself. Luckily, Herman wasn't hurt and was very understanding if a bit late on delivering mail to the McCall house ever since.

The other new agent (God,  _new agent,_ like him, and isn't that a weird feeling) that Stiles recognized was the Adonis with the soul crushing eyebrows. He did not look happy, but maybe that was his resting face. Like he just ate a lemon and was trying, and failing, to hide it. Stiles almost groans aloud when he sees the front of the room though. He didn't recognize the calm looking, dark skinned man in the middle but on his sides were Morrell and Harris. 

He followed the Jeremy and Malia, Erica close on his heels, to the row of chairs opposite to the people already sitting down. Which left him directly across from Grumpy McGrumppants. No one says anything, no papers are passed out and Stiles feels like he's lounging in limbo.

It's fucking boring.

Within five minutes, all the chairs are full at the table, mostly with people he doesn't know but there's Scott's awkward smile, Lydia's clever gaze and Allison's well defined cheekbones. Also, lo and behold, it's Finstock closing the door behind a woman with red hair, cropped close to her skull. "I'm here now, thanks for waiting everyone. Good to see you, Agent Deaton. How was DC?"

The guy radiating zen, Deaton, Stiles surmises, nods at the other agent "I'm fine, thank you, Agent Finstock. DC was good, standard procedure." His gaze twitches to Morrell who automatically starts handing out a small packet of papers to each person sitting at the table. Stiles takes his, not even quick enough to thank her before she's three people away. 

"My name is Agent Alan Deaton, I'm going to be your Senior Agent for the next year here, and the next four, hopefully, on the field. In your packets you will find a map of the facility that we call the Academy: the Americas. All recruits from Canada, South America and the USA will be here, a total of 600 people. 480 of you are trainees, the remaining 120 are the people who will be watching your every move for the next year. Welcome to the fish bowl." His smile seems honest, but it doesn't fully reach his eyes "This facility is made up of the House, the main building, where you are now. Three gyms, three cafeterias, bathing facilities, rooms for your senior agents, and, for lack of a better term, classrooms. Outside, we have your barracks, 16 of them with 24 people each. You and your roommate will find you names on the door of the room you are to share for the next 12 months. Outside we also have the shooting range and obstacle course, along with the arena that you'll hear more about in the coming months. Any questions, yet?" He pauses, glancing at each of them in turn. Some can't meet his assessing gaze, Stiles shifts uncomfortably but holds the black stare. No questions come.

"Good. Also in the packets you will find papers. The small packet you find is for you to read and sign in a moment before giving to us, it's your contract. It keeps you here for a year, think before you sign it. The other papers are just bare minimum information on each of your teammates. Name, picture, birth date. You'll get to know each other but these should help you along, a team should work as one. Not knowing the man or woman next to you would be disastrous." Deaton then gestured to the different senior agents in the room. "I think most of you recognize all of these people but let me introduce you to them." He points at Harris "This is Agent Adrian Harris, lead on Science and Research." His hand moves to his right " Agent Marin Morrell, She'll be conducting your psych evaluations, these are very important. And, finally, Agent Bobby Finstock. He's your main feild training guide. Notice how I said Agent each time. We are your superiors, not your friends. Treat us as such. If there are no questions, read your forms and make your decision."

A guy with swept back black hair and bright blue eyes leans forward "Agent Deaton, sir, what will people at home be told? Can we talk to them?"

Deaton-Agent Deaton, Stiles reminds himself- nods slightly at the boy "Mr. Daehlar, I believe, your family is gone. Your friends may worry but you can have outside contact in six months. In fact," he adds, Daehlars' face flushing red at the no family thing "None of you really have much family left, it's why you were recruited like you were. Something you can all bond over if nothing else. Now, please, read." Stiles glances down the table, exchanging a look with Scott who still had his mom to worry about. Sort of, anyway. Looking back to his packet he started to read. Standard stuff, that he understood. SHEILD really liked talking in circles. No hesitation, two minutes later, and Stiles was signing. Nothing to lose, everything to gain. As he looked back up he met light green eyes, that seemed to shift to gray and back as Stiles watched. Stiles mouth went dry for a second, before he shook it off as Erica touched his arm. Turning his head toward her, he looks to where she's pushing her signed agreement to the middle of the table.

Five minutes later, every packet is signed.

Deaton smiles widely, but Stiles notices the smiles still doesn't reach his eyes "Welcome to SHEILD, agents."

***********************************************

"This is your barrack, Delta Team," Finstock booms in a drill sergeant voice "This is where- ah, hell," he turns back to them, voice easing, their barrack at his back "Listen, if you don't fuck around I won't act too official, I'll leave that to your other Senior Officers. This is where you're staying, get along. Keep everything clean, there are guidelines on each of your bunks, two people to a room and no switching. The head honcho on campus placed each of you carefully. Dinner is in about...two and a half hours. We eat in cafeteria A with Alpha, Beta, Charlie and Echo teams. It's the smallest cafeteria but it has the best cooks. We sit together as a team, no exceptions unless a Senior Agent from  _our_ team tells you otherwise. Screw everyone else. Anyway, until then, unpack, socialise, do...things, I guess. Oh, and, don't get anyone pregnant. Sleeping with another agent you work with is frowned upon but not exactly prohibited. Have fun ya crazy kids, hell starts tomorrow." Finstock mocks salutes and trots off, yelling across the grounds as he goes.

"Jonesy! Shooting range? You and me! Mano y mano! Winner gets the final insult in at Sandoval at dinner tonight!" 

Jones, appearing from the House, yells back "Bring it, cupcake! You'll be eating those bullet casings, same way that Sandy eats Barbers' dick!" 

Stiles isn't an easily scared being, not anymore, but he runs into the barracks when a woman's voice, snarling and probably heard in Europe, echoes across campus "I'll kick you ASS, old man. You'll be eating pureed food a year early!"

The barrack is amazingly simple, Stiles thinks as he pokes around. Two bathrooms on both sides of the hall, with twelve rooms to sleep in. He looks for his name, noting other names he recognizes as he goes. Scott is the first door on the left with a guy named Ethan Carver. He walks by a door only two down from Scott and sees Malia and Allison sitting in their room, Lydia and her roommate Heather across the hall. Erica waves to him from where she walks into her room to talk a girl with long dark hair, and healthy black skin named Violet. The only other person Stiles knows is Jeremy and he's paired with Greenburg. Stiles sends a little prayer of thanks up to the heavens for that one.

"Of course." Stiles sighs as he reaches the very last room on the left, tossing his bag onto one of the beds. Not a bad sized room, has a window that opens. He flops onto the bed with a loud groan, arching his back up and letting his spine pop. His roommate hasn't meandered down yet, must be-

"Hey." a voice from the door says.

Must be the eyebrows guy, of course it would be. Okay, they're not that bad, Stiles thinks to himself, the eyebrows really aren't. But a guy like that has to have some sort of flaw. It wouldn't be fair to us mere mortals, otherwise.

"I'm Stiles Stilinski." he says standing up, stretching out his hand.

"Derek Hale, nice to meet you." Derek says with the first smile Stiles has seen on his face. Holy shit. Who is this man and why has Stiles never met him before?

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is posted like a day later than I wanted but I had no idea where to end it!! Also, OMG!! Comments and Kudos!! I love you guys and we're only, now, three chapters in. I also apologize for any mistakes, its like 4 in the morning right now and I think my editing is a little off.


	4. In Which Stiles Runs, Shoots And Is Oblivious

"So, Derek, what made you join up?" Stiles asks, going for casual nonchalance, watching his new roommate take sheets from the trunk at the bottom of his bed.. Derek raises a steroid filled brow as his hands stop moving, lips smoothing into an amused smirk.

"I'll tell you, if you tell me, Stiles." Stiles considers this for about .25 seconds, internally freezing with a loud litany of whispy voices filling his mind.

**_"I'm sorry, Mr. Stilinski, your father-"_ **

_"Stiles, you can always stay at our place. You-"_

**_"It was almost immediate, the bullet-"_ **

_"The room is ready for you, honey."_

**_"Stiles, I hate to ask this now, but-"_ **

_"I'm so sorry, Stiles. I'll send Scott-"_

_**"This form is for burial rights. Where did he-"**  
_

_"Dude. I'm sorry."_

_**"Thank you, Stiles....I'm sorry about your father, he was a good man."**  
_

Stiles shoots Derek a goofy smile "Nah, you haven't reached a high enough friend level to unlock my tragic backstory." Aaaaand there's the eyebrow again, great impression you're making Stiles. He quickly cleared his throat "So, you're my new partner in crime?" 

Derek goes back to making his bed as he answers, Stiles hurring to follow his example to give his hands something to do. "No, just roommate. Have you looked at the papers Agent Deaton gave us? You partner has a the  _word_ partner next to their name. Mine, for example, is Lydia Martin. I guess-"

"Lydia? YOUR partner is LYDIA MARTIN?" Great, so now, not only was the Adonis not going to be his partner but he was going to be routinely exposed to the magic that is Lydia Martin. They'll make beautiful, genius babies, Stiles thinks grumpily. Derek examines the  _almost_ angry look on Stiles' face while the younger man has an internal debate with himself and is oblivious to the scrutiny he's under.

"Yeah, she is. You know her? Same college, or something?" Derek asks after of minute of watching Stiles' face turn 20 different shades of red. Stiles blinks in surprise, coming back to himself.

"Different majors, though. How'd you know we went to school together? They pick you out in a University, too?" 

Derek hums in his throat "You act like a college kid, and from the birth date on your paper it says you just turned 22 a few months ago. So, that makes you around the right age. And, no, I worked at a precinct in New York City. Sent in a guy named Ennis to talk to me, and to another cop who's on our team- Jordan Parrish. Frankly, this is a lot more interesting than busting drug dealers and prostitutes for another thirty years." 

"That's why you came then?"

"In part." Derek flicks him another million dollar smile "You haven't unlocked my tragic backstory, either." Stiles puts his hands up in mock defense.

"No problem, dude." Derek and Stiles finished making their beds, not talking again until Derek paused in the doorway.

"Nice shirt by the way. Motorhead's a good band." 

Stiles jerks upright, pillow case in hand. "What's you favorite song?"

Derek tipped his head to the side in thought, fingers playing out a rhythm on the door frame. "Traitor, I guess. It made sense at a time."

Stiles nods, storing that information in his head for later "Same one as my dad actually, In The Year of The Wolf. Made sense in a fucked up way, too." Derek nods a little, a thoughtful look on his face. "See you at dinner, Stiles." Then he was gone.

******************************************

"No fucking way! You could  _not_ fit a watermelon in there. Everyone would notice!" Erica crows with laughter, the rest of the table laughing at the look of smugness on Boyd's face.

His voice shook with contained laughter "Have you  _seen_ parachute pants, Reyes? Trust me, I could have hidden a toddler there and no one would be the wiser."

"I still don't think it's true." Erica says with a pout, looking at her partner for back up. His cheeks puffed out with mashed potatoes like a chipmunk, Liam frantically shakes his head while hastily swallowing his food.

"I hope it  _is_ true." he says with reverence, eyes flicking back to Boyd without concealing the awe in his eyes. The watermelon thief tilts his head in thanks to the 18 year old former McDonalds' worker before grabbing another wing off his plate.

At the beginning of dinner it had been a mad rush to find partners and sit with them at the table. Stiles' partner, Matt, was nice guy, he kinda made Stiles' skin crawl but that probably was some best bro run over. Matt had been flirting with Allison since the got to the barracks earlier, and it had not made him and Scott best friends. Though Scott was already a little prickly when he found out David Greenburg was his partner. Stiles couldn't really blame him, whoever was paired with Greenburg was going to automatically rank on Finstock's shit list.

A couple seats away from Stiles, sitting next to Boyd's partner, Jackson, was Derek. And Lydia. That's why he was looking, because the smiling male model was, seemingly, having an in depth conversation with Lydia about String Theory. What kind of cop knew about String Theory?

"Stiles? Stiles!" Erica hisses, reaching across the table to smack at the unresponding brunet. Boyd smirked a little as Stiles jumped and shot Erica an aggravated look.

"What?" Erica smiled widely and jerked her head down the table at Derek.

Coming out like a purr she asks "Who's the god? He's edible." Stiles cringes, and he was _not_ the only one when she dragged out the vowels in  _edible._

"I speak for the table when I say this, blondie," Jackson says with an upturned lip "but I am _begging_ you. Never,  **ever** , use that word again." Liam chuckles, flashing Jackson a soft smile, until he catches Erica's annoyed look.

"Junior agents of Delta!" a woman's voice exclaims with faked enthusiasm behind Stiles' head. The entire table turns to see a tall, strikingly beautiful blonde woman who Harris had pointed out as Tanya Sandoval when the walked in, his exact words were something like _I see Tanya has managed to unglue herself from Barber's dick to join us this evening. I must thank her for gracing us lowly plebians with her presence. Sandoval! Sandoval- I'm glad to see you managed not to choke and live another year with us inferiors._ Stiles did not like Harris, but with the way Sandoval was glaring at their table- he was starting to understand and respect him a little.

Sandoval's lips flatten to a tight smile "I hope you're all settling in well. You'll be working with Alpha team closely tomorrow. I wanted to make sure you'd be fed and rested well enough to give us even a little competition. Unlike, Jo-"

Deaton's voice cut like a blade "Thank you for watching out for _my_ team, Tanya. I hope Alpha is going to come out early for extra warm ups in the morning?"

"Wouldn't miss it, _magic man_." The nickname was dripping with sarcasm, but Deaton didn't even twitch.

His smile was calm as his team shifted with confusion on their mess hall benches "Looking forward to it."

******************************************

Hell week, Finstock had said. Stiles hadn't believed him. Stiles was stupid.

Stiles was dead  _wrong._

"Another two miles!" Finstock shouted over his shoulder, easily staying at the head of their group, Agents Hodges and Alston on either side of him. The top four teams were running ten miles as their warm up. All of the their Senior agents in the physical training department were running with them except for Alpha team's Barber. Who was waiting back by the House to take their times when they made it back. Lazy bastard, Stiles thought unkindly.

"I can't make it another two." Matt panted next to him, shooting Stiles a desperate look. Stiles would have tried to reassure him but he didn't have enough breath left to speak. He was really hoping this Hell week would only be Hell  _day_ , because he was right there with Matt.

Jordan Parrish, nice guy, ran up next to them "They told me in the ROTC training, that if you can talk, you're not trying." Stiles changed his decision on Parrish,  _annoying dick_. Just fake the pain and join in their exhaustion. Or go up to the front with the health nuts. Like Boyd and Malia, and Derek. God, how do they do that?

"You're. Talking." Matt states between pants. Jordan seems surprised for a second before his brow furrows.

"You're right. See you at the House, guys." Parrish waves and sprints to catch up with the front of the group, Stiles shaking his head slightly. He sees him pass Scott and Allison, and Allison's partner Kira. Stiles is about 98% sure that Scott is trying to impress Allison and will die an heroic and tragic death when the make it back. Stiles doesn't feel bad about his place in the pack, though. He's encased firmly in the middle, along with most of everyone else. Hell, Lydia is maybe ten feet away along with Erica and Liam.

As the last two miles go by the group stretches out more, Stiles still in the middle, basically dragging Matt with him. Scott falls back, giving up on his goal to run a more realistic speed with Stiles. When Stiles finally gets back to the House about forty people are there, kneeling on the ground or forcing themselves to keep standing for their pride. Stiles picks up speed a little and passes Barber (a tall, pale eyed man, with a shaved head and square jaw) as the Senior Agent shouts out " 98,59" with Matt and Scott seconds behind. Stiles slowly stops running, frozen in place for one second before gracelessly sprawling across the ground. He can hear Malia laughing.

"I told Agent Finstock you're time. It's pretty good, he said. You beat out plenty of Alpha team even." her voice says somewhere in the realm above his head. He can't be sure though, because he can also kind of hear Scott's mom asking him where he got a key to her house.

"What was your time?" he slurs to Malia, choosing to ignore Malia's soft sigh. 

"75, 38." Stiles hisses a little, rolling onto his knees.

"What does that even mean?"

She laughs again, someone vomits off to the side while Finstock groans out the vomiter's name. Poor Jeremy. "It's your minutes and seconds, numb skull. Also, are you getting up anytime soon? You've been laying in the dirt for ten minutes."

Stiles listens to Finstock berating Jeremy until someone else runs in, proactively running and puking at the same time.

"Nah, I'll stay here. On my knees. Forever."

*****************************************

Stiles liked this. A lot.

"Good shot, Stilinski!" Finstock whoops, after Stiles' fourth bulls eye in a row. After they ran the Trail of Pain, as Erica dubbed it, they got about thrity minutes to sit before they got moved to the shooting range. First had been arrows, Allison and some guy named Reddick from Alpha Team kicked ass (mainly Allison, Stiles thinks loyally). Next had been knives, Beta team Alonzo and (surprise) Greenburg took home gold. But, then, came actual guns. Stiles was pumped.

"Hey, Barber! How's you're team doing? You see this. These three guys? Deeelta Teeeam." Finstock was way too excited, but so was Stiles. He was keeping up with Parrish and Derek, former police officers, shot for shot. Even doing a little better, if he said so himself.

He was the best.

*****************************************

"Oh, fuck!" Stiles yelped, Boyd's body smashing him to the ground. He heard Scott slam down somewhere, his friend's high pitched yelp was familiar and unmistakable. Boyd got up and held out a hand to him, grinning ( a real smile!) stretched on his face.

"Again?" he asked, huffing a laugh as Stiles grudgingly took his hand. He was doing this. He could-

"Shit!" Stiles yelled in pain, deeply relieved so many others were yelling too and it wasn't just him. "That was, like, five seconds. How do you do this, Boyd?"

Boyd just winked at him, extending a hand. Stiles took it, pain aching through his body.

He nods at Boyd "Again."

****************************************

"So, that was a painful day." Twin One, Aiden, Stiles thinks, says with a grumble as he leads the way into the showers. One day of Hell Week down, and Stiles was nowhere near ready for tomorrow. "I think I pulled the muscles _in_ my muscles."

Stiles nodded in agreement, shedding clothes slowly, each movement of his body making him tense up. Scott practically ripped off his clothes and stepped under one of the water heads, Stiles a little envious his best friend could still move so quickly. Or, he was, until Scott gave a scream and all but threw himself out from under the stream of water. "Holy fuck! Why? Why?" he moaned, glaring at the ceiling. He spun around to Stiles, ignoring all the stares from the other 18 guys in the room, and the fact he was just smacking around in the open air. "Stiles, there's no control for the water. It's just a button.  _And it's freezing."_  

"I'm sure it'll warm up, Scotty." Stiles says, meeting Derek's eyes. The other guy is exchanging comments with Jackson, but he's giving Stiles a deeply amused look while he shakes his head like Stiles is dead wrong.

Stupid Derek.

**************************************

"How was your day, Stiles?" Derek asks politely, walking into their room with a smile on his face. Stiles waits until the door shuts before he responds.

"Drop the schtick, Hale. These smiles? Not fooling me. I heard Parrish ask you earlier why you were so smiley. Cause apparently you're Mr. Doom and Gloom. So, you can stop." Derek's face was calm and calculating, "I hurt. My back, my butt, my legs, my arms, my _face_ hurts. The only thing that doesn't is my dick. I'm gonna be honest and say that surprises me a little. So, all I wanna do is sleep until they wake us up in six hours for more torture, okay?" He slowly looks over to see Derek yanking off his shirt and rolling onto his bed. Stiles is relieved though, because as gorgeous as the smile is, it was weird after awhile. The calm, almost sarcastic look seemed so much more comfortable.

"Sure thing, Stiles." his eyes glinted for a second. Stiles sighs, having seen that look before on people who have something pressing to say to him.

"What?" 

His finger on the lamp switch, he meets Stiles eyes "You're shooting form could use some work. I can help you on our down time."

Lights out.

"What the fuck, Derek? What's wrong wi-"

"I can  _fix_ your form, Stiles. Let me help. You seem like you could use it."

"Mkay, Derek."

"Think about it, Stiles."

"Sleep now, crazy man." 

 

 

 


	5. In Which Stiles Makes a Discovery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a little late with this chapter too!! But I made sure to get it out because I'm going on vacation in two days, for a whole week so I wanted to give you guys something. There's a time skip, small one, in this chapter. (Also, thank you, thank you, thank you!! For the kudos and comments. Love you guys!!)

"So, how was Hell Week, recruits?" Jones boomed, faint smile lighting up his face. All Stiles could think was that it was  _Saturday,_ and way to early for this shit. Someone, it sounded suspiciously like Greenburg, but Stiles would give him the benefit of the doubt, shouted that it was great.  _Great._ Stiles really hoped it wasn't Greenburg, because Stiles would kill him and killing a teammate would look bad. 

"Great?" Jones said with a surprised laugh "Damn, son. I've never heard that before. Not even when I trained Agent Finstock's eager ass. But, if it was so  _great_ I guess ya'll will be jumpin' for joy when I tell you Hell Week is just a name. That is what you'll be doing every morning or every afternoon for the next year. It's only Hell cause most of ya ain't used to it yet." Grumbling followed his pronouncement, but Jones didn't look discouraged at all. "It's over for the weekend though, but don't get used to it, kiddies. This weekend you get a big dose of tactics and your opening psych evals, even some science for you special few tomorrow. Sounds easy, right?" From behind Jones, slipping silently out of the House, was a long line of Senior Agents that Stiles was coming to recognize. Sandoval and Montoya, two of the Senior Agents for Alpha team. Then, Deaton and Morrell, looking calm and Buddhist as always. More and more came after. Jones' second joined him on stage, a tiny woman with chin length black hair named Frye. Echo team's burly MacDonald and November's peaky looking team leader Owens. Stiles counted them as they appeared. Not surprised, he counted thirty-nine Agents joining Jones, each team would have one for tactics and psych but apparently not for science until tomorrow. 

"Well, guess again. Go and pony up with your team's Senior Agents. Time to start Phase Two."

****************************

 _FuckfuckFUCKfuuuuck._ "Where the hell is Twin Two?" Stiles snapped as gun fire went off to his left. Matt, eyes huge and skin a splotchy gray, shook his head before pulling out one of the two communicators they had been given at the beginning of this shitfest. 

"Sleeping Beauty? This, is Ariel? Where are you? Repeat, where are you?" Stiles shook his head again, Disney princesses for code names. Now, he liked Disney, and Megara was a badass lady in Hercules, but Stiles really did _not_ want to have his name be  _Snow White._ He was not about that shit.

"Ariel, this is Sleeping Beauty. Did you and Snow fall into trouble?" As Matt replied Stiles turned to see how they were doing, making eye contact with a stone faced Derek Hale. Maybe ten feet away.  _FUCKFUCK_ _fuckfuuuck_.

"Down!" Stiles yelped, grabbing the back of Matt's neck and tossing them even closer to the floor as the  _simulation_  bullets carved their way through the crates they had been hiding behind. Deaton had assured them that the bullets would not kill them in the gear they were wearing, but Stiles had watched Malia shoot Scott earlier. It didn't exactly look pleasant. 

"Give me the phone, Ma-Ariel." Matt shoved the communicator toward him, a large, brick like thing that reminded him of old war movies. "SB, we need help now. We're next to the orange dot Rapunzel drew on the map earlier." Deaton had given them forty minutes to look at and memorize a map of the building they were being put in. Ethan actually had a good idea of color coordinating it, which rooms each set of partners would search through to find their team's object and get out. Orange was used for nothing, but Jeremy still  managed to get a dot on the paper during planning. "Do you copy?"

"Copy. Me and the other ladies are on our way. Just a minute." Splitting up had not been a good idea, but at the time had seemed like the only real choice.

The day had started off alright. Three hours in tactics and fifteen minutes, each, with Morrell to see how they were adjusting. Then, lunch, where Stiles had sat next to the enigma that was Derek Hale. Whenever he was around the rest of the team he was smiles and laughter, but alone the smile would vanish. Not to say he was being rude but he just wasn't as loose with his tongue as he seemed everywhere else, though he seemed more normal and less forced that way. Stiles almost wished he had never said anything about Derek's cheer though, because his smiles were rarely directed at Stiles anymore. He wished even more that maybe he wouldn't have let Derek 'correct' his form, it had just made Stiles head spin and they accomplished nothing. 

After lunch Deaton said it was time for their first mock mission. Delta team would be placed in a building, split into four smaller teams, with an object to search for. Their goal was to get the object and get out, losing as few people as possible on the way. That's when the simulation guns had been introduced. Not really bullets, they were a weird aluminum mix the lab had cooked up a few years ago. They wouldn't kill, but they would hurt like hell. Deaton gave them a map of the building, with pens and highlighters, two communicators and loaded them into the back of four different trucks. Partners stayed together, and Stiles and Matt were joined by Malia and Ethan, and Jeremy and Heather Custer. By luck of the draw, each team went in at different times, through different entrances. Disney team, as they were, drew third place. On entering it was silent for maybe half a second and then bullets were whizzing by, Stiles watched Malia shoot his best friend in the knee and the team was splitting up.

"Do you see a way out?" Matt yelled in his ear, the firing only getting louder as the Star Trek team appeared, headed by none other than Allison Motherfuckin' Argent. Stiles was awed, and a little scared, of the girl who had been his friend for four years, she was ruthless and proud of that fact.

Stiles caught another glance of Derek, who was still looking at him, before whipping back around "NO, just a lot people and guns." Matt groaned softly, rubbing at his temple. But, Stiles had lied. A part of the room was cast in shadow and could easily be a way out, behind Derek's team,  _of course_. At least one of them would be caught. Stiles didn't want to suggest Matt fall on his own sword and Stiles really didn't want to get shot. The communicator came to life at the same time that Jackson screamed as a bullet smashed into his dick.

"Snow, Ariel.  _We got it._ The fucker was just sitting in the open." Matt laughed, a relieved noise slipped from Stiles as well. But, if they came here...

"Don't come here. Repeat, do NOT come here. Go back to where we got in. If we aren't there in five minutes leave us." Matt was staring at him in horror.

Malia's voice came on in an instant "This is Mulan. What the hell are you thinking? You just said you needed back up, now-"

"I have an idea. Fucking listen to me. If this was a real mission I wouldn't even ask you to wait, now  _go._ " 

"...Alright. Just, hurry." And Malia was gone. None of their team was down yet, which meant they hadn't lost any points during the exercise. They could afford to lose one if they got out of the building first.

"Matt, I have an idea. You see the clear path behind Artist team? One of us can make it. We just have to go fast, and one of us has to be ready to go down." Matt nods, flexing his fingers. He didn't even question him, stunning Stiles a little. No one ever listened to him, not really.

"Me or you?" Matt asked, a resigned look on his face. Like he already knew Stiles was going to ask him to die for him.

"Me." Stiles says firmly, memories filtering into his mind. The only person in their way was Derek, the rest of the team was far enough forward that they wouldn't be an immediate problem. And, Stiles might have a plan. Maybe.

************************************

_"Your stance is weak. I could knock you off your feet in less than five seconds." Derek said, watching Stiles shoot at targets forty meters off. "It's not enough to have perfect aim, if what you're standing on moves or someone comes at you. You have to be ready." Stiles rolled his eyes, getting three more perfects shots. Not expecting what happened next. Derek snaked a leg between his and twisted. Stiles slammed to his knees, gun out of his hand and into Derek's. Barrel pressed to Stile's temple Derek smirked "Three seconds, Stiles. Try again."_

_Stiles growled softly, shooting back to his feet and taking the gun from Derek's grip. Again he started shooting, but this time he ended up on his ass with a smirking Hale standing above him. "That's not what you did last time, that was a freaky judo punch." Stiles accused, rubbing at his chest with both hands, gun glinting in Derek's hand._

_"I'm not going to come at you the same way every time, neither is an enemy. You have to be ready for everything."_

_Stiles rolled his eyes and stood, taking the proffered gun from Derek. "How does a New York cop know all this." Stiles managed to grapple with Derek the next time, but still landed on a knee._

_"SWAT training. Let me show you." Stiles wasn't convinced SWAT taught this Navy Seals stuff but he was quickly distracted. Derek slid behind him, standing firmly at his back. Like before a leg slid between his, but this time it anchored Stiles. Derek's hand moved along his shoulders, pressing here and there to make him more relaxed. His breath rolled across Stiles' neck as he spoke "There really isn't a correct form, though many will tell you different. If you can move with it, changing sight in a second, then it's right. But, it has to feel right, too. Now," Derek's hand slid off Stile's shoulder to wrap around his waist, tightening to pull Stiles flush against him, "Again." Stiles shot, Derek twisted him around to take the gun. Stiles took advantage of Derek's leg between his and slipped a foot around Derek's ankle before jerking forward. **Hard.**_ _Stiles tried to twist around to point the gun at Derek but ended up slipping with his legs entangled with Derek's._

_Derek raised an eyebrow at the younger man who was flushed and straddling him, gun three feet away from both parties. Stiles felt his heart stutter as Derek's hands gripped his thighs, fingers digging in and keeping him steady, before he cursed himself. He was not going to do this. No, no he was not._

_"Thanks for the lesson, Derek. But, we should go." Stiles said sharply, ripping himself from Derek's grip. "We have to get up in four hours for another day of Hell Week. Night." Stiles ran, leaving the gun and a blank faced man behind him in his haste._

_Derek came into the room thirty minutes later, Stiles curled tightly into himself and pretended to be asleep._

_***********************************_

"You really think this is gonna work?" Matt muttered in front of Stiles. 

"Sure thing." Stiles breathed with false confidence "Just keep moving and don't look back. I've got Derek." Matt nodded and the boys started moving. Stiles saw Jackson curled onto the floor, clearly a dead man, with Meredith using his body as a partial shield. Allison was focused on getting rid of Lydia, while Danny squared off with Twin One. The few others in the room were focused on the action in the middle, not on the two men sneaking around the side. Matt had just passed Derek, communicator in hand, when Derek twisted to look directly at Stiles' partner. Derek raised his gun and Stiles moved as quickly as possible. He slid an arm around Derek's waist, foot yanking around Derek's ankle, bringing the larger man to his knees. 

Derek still held the gun though, and twisted it to point at Stiles' gut. But, Matt was moving. Not quick enough, though. "Any last words, Stiles?" Derek asked in a cold voice, catching his team's attention. Shit, shit,shit. Matt was so close.

"Just this," Stiles managed to choke out, gun barrel shoving deeper into his stomach as he bent over and latched his lips onto Derek's. He enjoyed Derek's surprised eyes for a second before Derek was kissing back. The fact that this was a training exercise being watched by Deaton, Finstock, Morrell, Harris and whoever else, was taking a backseat for the moment. Because  _Derek_ was kissing  _back._ Stiles expected to get shot, or at least shoved away. But, Derek's lips were moving on his, chapped and warm. Stiles felt the gun ease against his stomach before dropping away completely, both of Derek's hands reaching up to twist in Stiles' hair and pull softly until Stiles was kneeling, too. Stiles let out a soft whine at that, before pulling away panting. Derek's eye were huge, the familiar look of calculation hidden in the blue-green orbs was gone. Stiles was proud he made Derek look that way.

Then, Stiles got shot.

********************************

"You really kissed Derek?" Malia squealed, before laughing her head of with a giggling Heather. Stiles sighed, holding his right side, the ribs there aching from Violet's bullet. They were back on the truck, going back to the House to be treated and have team placing announced. Stiles had laid on the ground, completely ignored for another twenty minutes after being shot until all teams made it back outside. He was better off than Jackson, however. Idiot was still clutching his manhood with pain in his eyes. Matt had run forward to help Stiles into the truck when Ethan carried him out, looking stunned. He asked the same thing as Malia, word gets around fast in Delta.

"Yeah. Now shut up." Stiles grumbled, shooting the girls an angry look which was  _completely_ ignored. 

Matt gave him a look "So, what was your plan exactly? I mean, you got me out, but did you know....?"

"I knew it was a possibility." Stiles said, fixing his gaze onto his partners face "Tell me now, Matt. Is it bothering you that I'm into guys. 'Cause we need to be able to work together, so-"

Matt interrupted, shaking his head frantically "No way! My best friend at home was gay. Well, lesbian. I mean, is that the same-"

"You sound like Jeremy. Enough, Daehlar." Ethan snapped, rolling his eyes to soften the words. "If you're okay with it just say so." Matt nods a little, before looking back at Stiles.

"So, are you gay or...?"

Stiles meets Ethan's eyes, who's smiling at him, shaking with laughter. "No, I'm bisexual."

Matt nods before looking at Ethan "Thanks for shutting me down."

"Sure. My brother reacted the same way when I told him I was gay."

Everyone was silent for a minute as Matt thought about it. 'I kissed my cousin, once." Jeremy blurted out. Stiles snorted, before slapping a hand over his mouth. Ethan just looked at him, Malia laughed even harder, while Heather crinkled her nose.

"Ew." she said succinctly. 

"We were in middle school, and I thought we were all sharing personal things." 

Malia rolled her eyes "I used to practice stealing, I gave everything back though....except a _really_ nice bra I got from Victoria's Secret."

"I blew my Econ. Professor for an A." Heather admits quietly, Ethan nodding along as though this was commonplace.

All eyes turn to Matt who was fidgeting uncomfortably "I don't...I'm a virgin." His admittance is quiet and embarrassed. Ethan meets Stiles' eyes, shrugging a bit before turning to Matt.

"Nothing to be ashamed of." Ethan said calmly "Guy I had sex with the first time was a giant prick. I'd take it back if I could." Stiles nods, thinking of the tall senior pressing him into the gym lacrosse lockers when he was a freshman, being so excited by it at the time, and the ten times after that. Then, the guy never saying a word to him after graduation a month later. Everyone else seemed to be in the same state of mind except Jeremy.

"My first time was pretty great, actually." Malia stared at him hard, before asking, with a completely straight face-

"Was it your cousin?" 

 

 

 

 

 


	6. In Which Derek Has Problems, But Sitwell Wins King of Douchedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaaaAAAAaaack!!! Woo, vacation was good, but it's nice to be home. So, this chapter will be the last in this time frame. It's getting set up for the main plot that's coming hardcore in a few chapters. Also, this universe is canon compliant with the movie marvel universe for the most part. 
> 
>  
> 
> Plus a little smut smutty in this chapter (it's my first time, trust me, I'l get better)
> 
> Anyway. love you all very VERY much:)

"Congratulations on your win, Stiles." a low voice says from their shared doorway.  _Derek,_ Stiles thinks, heart catching. Without turning from the new schedule handed to him by Agent Morrell, Stiles thanks him softly.

_You will not look up, you will not-_

"Stiles," the man in question burns holes into the paper he's holding, the words  **Tactics Training- 0800** burning into his mind, " _Stiles,_ we need to talk." Derek's voice is right next to him now, the shutting of the door an echo of the older man's statement. A thick thumb and forefinger tug the paper from his hold with ease. Stiles- _I won't look up, I won't, I won't_ \- looks up.

_Derek_ is watching him closely, the calculation Stiles had swallowed down earlier is back in his molten eyes. "Why did you do that, Stiles?" His voice is hard, all business, and Stiles' stomach flips in worry.

"I wanted to win." the conviction he tries to push into his answer falls flat, it almost sounds like a question to Stiles. Derek raises a brow at him, dark humor rising in his eyes, clouding the thoughtfulness and a funny smiles rolls across his features.

"Is that all?" Derek asks "Can I sit for a second, Stiles?" Not liking the look on Derek's face, Stiles goes against the voice in his head and the tightness in his gut. Derek's tone is mocking, but it's soft and Stiles can't find any insult in it, no matter how hard he looks. It reminds him of someone, and it's not a good thing.

"Go for it, free country and all. President Washington and the boys in-" Stiles' rambling is cut short when Derek sits next to him on the edge of the bed, much closer than necessary. Stiles focuses on the way his bare feet look so pale compared to the wooden floor beneath them. He completely ignores the way the dark boots settled next to them seem so much more intimidating than they have any right to, even though they look smaller.

"I'll ask you again, Stiles. Is. That. All?" Derek's voice is hard, but it never leaves a whisper. Stiles feels embarrassment roll through him when he realizes it isn't the only hard thing. And that is wrong, that is bad, that is the worst thing for Stiles- why is he embarrassed? An erection is commonplace for him, Derek has seen plenty of his morning wood only a week into training, even. And, it's no secret he likes guys, if someone asks he'd tell them. Hell, even Sheriff John Stilinski knew before-but wanting Derek is different. Something is telling him not to do this.

"No." Stiles finds himself whispering, against all odds "No, it's not." A smug glint enters Derek's eyes, tempered by what Stiles thinks he recognizes as self-deprecation. Stiles jumps at the sudden touch of a hand curving over his knee.

"Then, tell me why you ran that night." The hand moves up, rubbing circles on the inside of Stiles' thigh. "Why did you kiss me, if it wasn't just to win?" Stiles' gaze is fixed on Derek's contemplative face, who's fixated on the way Stiles' legs are tensing and twitching under his rough massage. "Tell me, Stiles, tell me. What exactly did you mean to do?" A million answers run through Stiles' mind, but Derek's breath is on his neck now and only one answer comes to his lips.

"You." Stiles chokes out, it doesn't explain much, but Stiles doesn't care as Derek finally,  _finally,_ stops teasing and rolls his palm over Stiles' through his sleep pants. Derek finally flicks his gaze up to Stiles' face, hiding the lust as he takes in the way Stiles' head is tipped back, soft breathy moans being tugged out of a round, pink 'O'. Eyes going down again, almost not willing to look at Stiles' lips too long, he pulls out Stiles' red cock, precome already beading at the tip. Derek rubs the weeping slit with his thumb, the rough pad of skin making Stiles arch his back, a soft keen leaving his mouth and as he thrusts his hips helplessly. Derek lets go then, earning a whine of protest, sliding back on the bed and pulling Stiles to sit between his legs, enclosing the younger agent between muscled thighs.

Wrapping his arms around Stiles, one across his chest and over a shoulder, the other around his writhing waist, Derek commands Stiles firmly "Touch yourself for me." Stiles slowly wraps his hand around his length, all his insecurities coming back to his mind at the stern voice, memories surfacing. But just as quickly as those thoughts, Derek pulls his hand away and presses the fingers to Stiles' lips "Get them wet first." Stiles encloses each finger, sucking and laving his palm eagerly. The worry is gone when Derek deems Stiles slicked enough and pulls the three fingers Stiles had been sucking and moaning around from his mouth. Again, Stiles wraps his fingers around his cock, feeling more confident and eager than every.

At the first pump he rocks up into his own grip, resting his weight on Derek's chest. He uses his thumb to rub at the folds on his head, other hand moving down to cradle his balls. Derek is silent behind him, but every time Stiles rocks his ass back he can feel how excited Derek is, hard and teasing behind his own pants. A loud moan erupts from his lips as he imagines Derek. Derek's rough, steady hand working him quickly. Harsh pants in his ear as Derek rubs himself off on Stiles' ass, coming with a snarl of his name, painting his back and the cleft of his ass white.

"Fuck.  _Derek._ " Stiles groans, pumping faster " I-I'm coming. I'm gonna,  _shit. Derek!"_ He comes abruptly, long pulses of white over his hand, over his black shirt, and for a moment he isn't embarrassed for coming as quickly as he did as a teenager, because he's never come that hard. Almost immediately, Derek is gone from behind him. Stiles, panting and still searching for breath, can't help but clench up as alarm bells drown out the sweet numbness he was feeling. This reminds him of Tucker. Tucker, the only guy Stiles has ever slept with. Tucker, the guy who took what he wanted, said thanks and was gone for a week. Now Stiles gets it, but he has a weird feeling that this isn't everything thing. Looking up, he sees the blank look of a composed Derek, and his stomach drops somewhere into the pit of hell.

"That's it. That's all I can give you." Derek's voice seems bitter, full of self-loathing, but it's gone in a second "Quick. No feelings, no strings, no attachments. What I'm-what we're doing is too important. The other night seemed like more, and that's on me. But, I'm clearing it up now. And, frankly, _Stiles_ , I don't think you could handle that." The name feels like a slap, but it stirs Stiles from his shock. Anger crashes over his head and he can barely breath through the red that's threatening to suffocate him.

"Fuck you,  _Derek._ " Stiles twists the name the same way Derek did to him. Derek doesn't even blink, just stares, unimpressed. "You're such a goddamn asshole. You could've said _not interested_ like a normal human being, instead of fucking with me." One second Stiles is on his feet, in Derek's face, the next Derek has him crowded against the cold door.

His harsh laugh whooshes against the skin of Stiles' cheek "I _am_ interested, Stiles. You want to know what I've thought about? I've imagined those big, brown eyes dripping tears, lips stretched around my dick, moaning for everyone to hear, while I fuck your throat. I can see your ass twitching in front of me, begging to be filled like the good little slut that you could be. Until I grabbed those hips and shove into you, leaving bruises with your freckles, pumping you full of my come until you were dripping with it." Derek's voice is low and raw by this point, Stiles' eyes blown to almost pure black. Stiles is angry, boiling, but he's imagined this too. Derek taking him until he could barely stand, filling him with come on both ends. But his fantasies are much more loving. Scott always teased him for being a romantic, but Stiles knew it was an inherited trait. Until his mom died his dad been a romantic too. Each of his crushes, each person he dated, had been relationships full of thoughts for love and being loved. Not the "no attachments" Derek wants.

"I want  _that,_ Stiles. But, I just don't have time for  _you._ " Derek pulls back, that bitter gleam in his eyes again.  _"_ You won't want me for long any way, Stiles. Not if you knew. Don't make me show you what I can do." In a flash, Stiles is on his ass in the hall. Derek had opened the door in one, fluid motion but Stiles isn't complaining. Not when Derek steps over his legs like trash, striding down the hallway. Because as angry as Stiles is, as much as he hates Derek right now he's  _glad._ He realized what else he saw in Derek. He saw himself in the mirror eight years ago, for months until it started to fade. Bitter, full of loathing for everything and himself, too. Stiles saw himself in Derek. After Tucker finally left him for good and he couldn't figure out why. After he pulled the white sheet back from his father's face and saw his empty features in his dreams for  _months._ Stiles can't even hate him as he walks away, not really. He can only feel the way he had so long ago.

Stiles is scared.

**********************************

"You came here to be put into a group of 24 junior agents, not sure what to expect, but knowing you had to make the best of it. This week has taught you to adapt, to strange places and strange people. And to do it quickly. You learned a bare  _minimum_ of the  _basics_. But all of it was done on your own, even if you were surrounded by others. The rest of this year will go straight into how you work with others, specifically  _Field Teams._ " Deaton's eyes sweep over all of them, the man illuminated by the lights from the House behind him. Stiles, firmly seated between Scott and Malia, shivers at the seriousness in the man's voice. He really doesn't need more serious shit today. 

"The partners you have been assigned, they end now. This teaches you change will happen, with you having no say. Today, you will be given a permanent team, like the one you worked with on you training exercise earlier. These teams will be the last ones until you go into the field, they may change then. You will also be switching bunks," Some groaning breaks out, people sighing over having just settled in. Stiles couldn't be more relieved. He glances to where Derek is sitting with Matt and Ethan. Stiles had said nothing to anyone after...just after. He had taken a seat between Malia and Scott, not speaking a word under their questioning gazes.

"The roommate you will get will be on your team, and they will become your new partner based on how well we think you can work together. This is about adaptation. It is key in surviving this job. Your life is now based on how well you can do this. There will be four teams of six. Each team will have an advisor, who will be one of Delta team's Senior Agent. These teams are based on how you preformed today. How your personalities will work together." Whatever Deaton said makes Morrell's normally tranquil face pinch for a moment.

"Each team will have an assigned leader, tactician, weapons expert, scientist and two agents much _more_ than _just_ deadly at hand to hand, these two are your Walls. Your placement is not up for argument, these are strengths we are playing up for you. But don't think this means you will never see the rest of Delta again. You will still eat together, bunk together and the four of us will still train you in the group." With that, Deaton steps back and an unamused Harris steps forward.

"When I call your name, move from the benches to the table littered with black folders, you will sit with the folder that has your placement on it- as not to  _confuse_ you all.

Leader- Danny Mahealani

Weapons- Garrett Dyson

Tactician- Jordan Parrish

Scientist- Heather Custer

Walls- David Greenburg and Jeremy Sutheim." 

Wasting no time the team, lead by Danny, takes the table with their folders in silence- none wishing to antagonize the normally touchy Haris. But, tonight, it seems Finstock is the one to watch out for- he is clearly seething and Stiles would bet the small amount in his bank account that is has something to do with Agent Jones.

"Orange folders are my team, got it?" Finstock snaps out, standing where Harris had been only seconds before. "Leader- Angry Xena," he jerks his thumb at Malia, who looks surprised, and pleased, by the name. "Weapons-Mulan" Kira rolls her eyes as she stands, "Tactician-  _black_ gay kid." Stiles' mouth drops as Mason, Liam's best friend, splutters in shock a bit while Liam pats him on the back. "Science- Insane Orphan Annie" this one seems worse to Stiles but Meredith isn't even offended, she just nods with amusement. "And Walls- Scarf boy and  _straight_ twin." Isaac blushes at the mention of the gigantic blue scarf he had on the first day while Aiden growls a bit, his twin shaking with laughter.

Morrell is swift in taking Finstock's place, shooting a reprimanding glance at her friend. Her friend who is openly glaring at Jones across the yard. Ouch, lovers spat. Stiles winces at his own thought, chancing another glance at Derek who is focused only on Morrell. So, Stiles sees the pride on his face when she calls his name.

"Leader-Derek Hale

Weapons- Violet Logan

Tactician- Vernon Boyd

Science- Matt Daehlar

Walls- Erica Reyes and Ethan Carver."

Her team walks over to the table with red folders, Derek taking his place at the head. "Dude," Scott hisses in excitement, and Stiles knows Scott will be on the same team as him and it'll be like old times, to Scott at least. But Stiles doesn't respond, because Derek is looking at him now and Stiles is trapped. The contemplating gaze is the only thing he's really aware of, Derek's diamond like eyes feel like a snake's and Stiles is so gone that the only way he knows his name has been called is because the widening and shock of those blue-greens. And Stiles doesn't catch who the leader of his team is until everyone is moving around him, Scott pulling him along.

Allison is their Weapons Expert, Lydia is their Tactician with Jackson as the (questionable) Scientist. Scott and Liam will be  _his_ team's Walls. Because he is the leader. He, Stiles Johnathon Stilinski, has been chosen as a leader because Deaton, (badass, zen, Yoda-like) Deaton sees potential in him. The word LEADER is printed in large, fine letters on his white folder. Inside is a schedule like the one he got earlier, but more comprehensive. There's a list of what food his regimen calls for and is allowed for the next month, rules to be memorized, a chart to log his practice, a team evaluation sheet ( _because they're **his**_ _responsibility_ ) and an ID card that Stiles can't help but stare at.

                   

**STILES STILINSKI**

**Delta-Feild Team A**

**Leader**

 

 

....Whooly SHIT.

**************************************

Sitwell is happier than he's been in awhile. Sandoval, Jones, Santana and Deaton have submitted in final team assignments, and looking over them he's relieved. Everything is coming together so well, so perfectly, he can't help thinking. Sandoval's placements are the best, but she knows to please him. She's known for awhile, the others were wild cards.

"Good, girl." he can't help praising out loud, while shaking his head at Deaton's group. They could work out but, still...Alan was turning out to be a slight problem, though a lesser nuisance than Jones and his steadfast, high morals, cowboy schtick was. But he shouldn't be surprised by either, really. Jones and Fury trained together, Fury had trained Coulson, and Coulson (as a _newbie_ , a last minute replacement) had trained Alan. Then again, the thoughts couldn't just be passed down through training. 

Fury had trained Sitwell, too. And, look where he was now.

Just then, a, welcome but surprising, ring sounds from the little burn phone on his desk. SHIELD assumed such old ways of covering tracks were obsolete, no one of real threat using them in 2010. No skin off Sitwell's nose, though, their ignorance was useful to him.

"Sir, I wasn't expecting to hear from you for another month." Sitwell didn't bother with platitudes, he knew they were useless and this had to be quick.

A chuckling voice responds "I hope I don't offend for being early, then. We're ahead of schedule on my side, Dr. Z is being  _very_ helpful, that probably has to be due to the  _dethawing_ of a certain American icon just recently found. But, tell me, Agent, how are we looking up in God's country?"

"Sandoval's team is beautifully done, and we lucked out with Santana's team- she relied heavily on Valenze during her decision, thank God." He pauses, adjusting his glasses, a discomfort rolling through him.

"...Is there a problem I should be aware of?"

Sitwell swallows heavily "Deaton and Jones, they didn't disburse well. It could still be viable, with some prodding but-"

"Doesn't matter. They stand against us, those two are a lost cause. We'll have time for the kids later. But until then, they stand stand against us too. But, it sounds as if Sandoval did her part perfectly and make sure to thank Valenze for me. Man's resourceful."

"Of course, sir."

"And, Sitwell?"

"Yes, sir?"

Across the country, the man glanced behind him to where his dinner guests were waiting on him, a man talking to his lovely wife and grown son. "We'll do lunch when you get back, hopefully sooner, rather than later. Those four may be the ones with the most potential, but keep an eye out on everyone else, too. We're so close to a perfect world, my friend. Hail Hydra."

"Hail Hydra."

The phone call ends perfectly for the sharply dressed gentleman standing under the darkening DC sky. "Alexander! Are you really making my wife wait for dinner in this heat?" Ellis calls over with a deep laugh, indignant wife smacking him on his arm.

The man calls back jokingly, making his way over to his old friends "I would never keep our beautiful, future First Lady waiting, would I?"

"I've told you Alex, it's Linda, we've known each other for far to long for that. And the election is two years off yet." she says with a laugh, her voice is soft and warm, as kind as her eyes, not a trace of betrayal or deceit anywhere to be found under her greying brown locks. Her husband is the same way, amazing for a politician whose made it this far, the aging man is full of peace and understanding for anyone he meets. The couple of thirty years smile at each other, safe with security and old friends around them. They walk to the car waiting to take them all to the restaurant. Two years, he thinks, but his old friend will win. For the time, that's where they need him.

"Good evening, Councilman Pierce." Jacob Ellis greets, formal and utterly charming as a handsome 23 year oldwill be, falling into step next to the older man, far behind his parents. His blue eyes are his father's and his hair belongs to his mother. But, Alexander Pierce smiles widely at the look on the young man's face, he inherited that look from neither of his parents, but from Alex's favorite person in the world, the only one he'll look out for- the boy's godfather. 

"Did you miss me? It's been almost a year." the boy-man asks.

"Of course," he replies, jovial smile overtaking his face "You are my favorite godson after all!"

"I'm your  _only_ godson." The laughter is polite, the conversation is normal, their greeting goes unsaid but far from missed.

_Hail Hydra._

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tah-dah!!!! Finally, a little plot! It was killing me to get here!!  
> All mistakes are mine as I beta my own work.
> 
> The next chapter is going to skip a couple months, so be prepared for that, FYI. The plot is going to be thickening *evil laughter followed with a little bit of guilt* I know what's coming and it's gonna be a ride, I hope you stick around for it.
> 
> As always, kudos are loved and comments are bae!!! They honestly get my butt writing quicker.
> 
> Until next time, loves! 
> 
> (PS- I have it all plotted out...it's gonna be long. I just can't make myself split it into seperate stories. Nope)


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